


Stigmata on the Soul

by sams_youngblood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depressed Sam, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Fear, Guilty Sam, Help, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Redemption, Regret, Sam Needs Forgiveness, Sam Prays, Sam-Centric, Suicidal Sam, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9396938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sams_youngblood/pseuds/sams_youngblood
Summary: Where does one begin to pray for forgiveness? Where does one find acceptance, atonement? Not in the arms of saints, or broken men. Not when they turn their heads from sin, even when they have sinned themselves.Sam is looking for an anchor, but where can he find one, when he can't even tell Dean he's sorry?





	

Sam had never told anyone about it. He kept it hidden, shoved it down his throat so no words could express what he was feeling. Dean wouldn't understand. Or maybe he would; maybe he was feeling the exact same thing. But Sam wasn't going to take the chance. He wasn't going to open up to the possibility that his older brother would laugh at him, chide him for trying to have a chick flick moment, clap him playfully on the shoulder with a drunken smile, and walk away. No. Sam couldn't stand to be brushed off like that again. So he bottled it up, screwed the cap shut tight, and threw it out into the restless ocean of his mind. But he forgot something for a moment, something that he has known all too well his for entire existence, following him around, weighing on his soul like a two-ton anchor (he must've tried throwing it away along with his depression in a bottle).

Depression doesn't sink.

He remembers the disappointment in his father's eyes. Why couldn't he be good enough? He has never been enough for anybody, and they have always paid the price for trusting a man with blood on his hands, in his veins. He should have burned with her. Both times. He deserves to burn.

Remorse doesn't disappear.

He remembers the fear in his brother's eyes. Why did he have to be a monster? He was never strong enough to resist his destiny, to save his brother from himself, to say  _no_ to all the darkness inside him. His darkness owns him, always has, always will.

Guilt doesn't wash away.

He remembers the love in Jessica's eyes. Why didn't he tell her? He spent his whole life running, abandoning, _destroying_ , and the one time he runs away from her she turns to ash. He never faced his past, and the love of his life paid for his stupid mistakes, just like they all did. He should be the one paying.

Regret doesn't fade.

He remembers the exultation in Ruby's eyes. Why did he fall for her lies? He played right into her plan, let the devil run free. And he can never run from that. He cannot ever wipe his slate clean because his taint splashes red over any good he does. He once painted himself red; he was brought back like a runway dog is returned to his master. He couldn't erase his sin, _himself_.

Sadness doesn't drain.

He remembers the disgust in Castiel's eyes. Why was he alive, so tainted? He has demon blood inside him, and he is irreparable. He is unworthy of deliverance, because he is a stain on everything he touches. His promises are void, and his handshakes are doom. Don't associate with Sam Winchester; you'll die.

Sometimes he forgets, tries to lose himself in his brother's smile and his best friend's eyes and his mother's voice on the phone, but at his core, in his twisted and black and wrongfully beating heart, he knows. He is a man-made monster with every human emotion, overdosed on worthlessness in a world that could never wrap its head around him (so don't even try; he never did).

Sam remembers. And he is afraid. Of what he has done, of what he might become. There is no redemption for abominations, for failures, for _freaks_. No retribution for disappointments, for outcasts, for pyschos. No hope for _him_. And so he weeps, and prays:

_Maybe I could be saved..._

 

//m.m.m.

**Author's Note:**

> Salutations, my dear readers. You all mean the world to me, and I hope you enjoyed this (as much as one can enjoy the depressing lump of regret that is this fic)! Comments and kudos keep me going (literally, they are my only validation) and are greatly appreciated, as are you. Thank you for reading! <3


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